Where I'm From
by Smile True
Summary: Ponyboy's thoughts and memories about his life and brothers, both before and after the accident. Brotherly fluff and some heavier stuff (grief, mostly.)


**Disclaimer: I do not own The Outsiders nor any of S.E. Hinton's original characters. I also do not own Where I'm From by George Ella Lyon, his poem just inspired me to make one for Ponyboy!**

 **This is kinda a collection of Pony's memories/ thoughts. I tried to give a peek into what life looked like for the Curtis's before the car crash, and how it changed the brothers. And some other random stuff.**

 **Happy reading!**

 **POV Pony**

 _I am from muddy work boots_

 _From cigarettes and hair grease_

Ma rolled her eyes at us and tilted her head towards Dad as he kicked off his mud-covered work boots, sending them flying across the floor, splashing dirt everywhere. He lit the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth and quickly realized his mistake when he looked at Mom, vacuum still in hand, rolling her eyes.

 _I am from the white house_

 _That's never silent_

I never really realized how quickly normal changes. How fast your life can break and you don't even think about it until you look back at the pieces shattered behind you. I mean of course, it hurts when it happens. It hurts so bad you feel like you're falling apart from the inside out. But then you pull yourself up by your bootstraps, or maybe someone picks you up, but either way you go to work, you go to school, you hurt, you cry, you laugh, you smile, you shout from anger or pain or joy or frustration or nothing at all but you're just so numb you don't know what else to do. But you start going through the motions.

And slowly, the house isn't silent anymore. Soda starts singing as he makes breakfast. Darry makes jokes and you pretend not to catch that dirty punch-line, your school friends stop walking on eggshells. And you adjust. You start to not feel cold all the time. Life is so completely different and yet it's perfectly normal. And my family, however little and broken, is mine. And that's never gonna change.

 _I am from_ _the_ _dirt_

 _The oak tree_

 _Whose long gone limbs I remember,_

 _as if they were my own_

I try to remember my earliest memory. Soda is pushing me on the tire swing Dad had hung from the oak tree. I'm hanging on as tight as I can, laughing and squealing as the ground moves away from me. Years later that tree came down in a storm.

 _I'm from Christmas mornings and cowlicks_

 _from Mom's kindness and Dad's grin_

Soda and I dragged Darry from his bed. At 16, he thought getting up at 5 am to open presents was ridiculous. Soda and I knew better, though. Christmas morning was the best day of the year. Once he was out of bed it was clear he was just as excited as us to start seeing what gifts awaited. Being the youngest I got to go first. Darry stood next to Dad as I got started on my little pile of gifts. It wasn't much. It never was, but I could care less. Darry looked so much like Dad, standing there, matching cowlick and all. Darry was one of the most fun people I knew, he was always up for an adventure and never ashamed to go out with his younger brothers. I suddenly miss the Darry I knew before he was struggling to keep us afloat.

 _I'm from loud voices and hard work_

 _and from laughter_

I look up as Darry comes through the door, dropping his tool belt and beelining to the kitchen. It reminds me of Dad, how similar it looks, if I didn't know better I might have even thought for a second _he_ was walking through the door. Dad used to come home every day and no matter how hard his day was he would pick us up and swing us around while we laughed and shouted. When we got older it morphed into wrestling matches, tumbling through the house, a tornado of headlocks and "say Uncle!"

 _I'm from "use your head" and "you don't quit"_

 _and Nothing Gold Can Stay_

I remember when we found out that Darry got custody. Just for a second it felt like everything in life was alright, even if it was just for that fleeting moment, we were gonna be okay. Darry got a job before I even went back to school. He worked so hard, and for so long I didn't care. Because life wasn't fair, and Darry was supposed to be able to do everything and I forgot Darry was probably even more lost than I was.

Soda held both of us up, I think. I heard somewhere that the most broken people smile the widest. I guess that's true. Soda feels everything so violently that I'll never understand how he keeps moving. I guess it's because he also feels happiness just as much. When he's happy the whole world just seems to make sense.

 _I'm from long hours and Tulsa_

 _From chocolate milk and over sweetened icing_

When I was six, Soda made a chocolate cake for the first time. The whole extra sugar thing was actually an accident. He'd measured it wrong, and ended up liking it so much he never did try and make it normal. The green pancakes, on the other hand, were definitely intentional.

 _From the train tracks that stole them_

 _far too young_

Darry lets himself into my room, followed by Soda. I'm trying to fall asleep, Mom and Dad went out for the night and my older brothers probably want something. I don't see them in the darkness but I recognize the sound of their footsteps in the old and creaking house. I don't know what they want, but I know I don't want any part of it. I'm tired, and something just doesn't feel right. Maybe I'm getting sick. It's not unusual for them to try to get me to play football in the darkness or sneak into a late show at the drive in. I never knew how to say no to them, especially Soda, when he's all smiling and high on life. So I close my eye's tighter and hide further in my blankets, thinking if I pretend to be asleep maybe they'll just leave. But they don't.

Darry says my name in quiet, strained voice I hardly recognize. I ignore him. Soda turns on the light.

"Ponyboy," He says. Exasperated, I flip over and look at them. As soon as I see their faces I'm out of bed.

I search their faces for answers. "What's wrong?" I ask. Soda tries to answer me, but he starts sobbing so hard I barely make out what he's trying to say. I hear it in pieces, Mom and Dad, train tracks, police officer.

Finally, it hits me.

 _Their wedding rings_

 _In the velvet jewelry box_

 _Perhaps the nicest thing we own_

 **Thank you so, so much for reading and please leave a review! I really appreciate constructive criticism, but please don't flame! Have a lovely day.**

 **Full poem (In case you're interested)**

 _I am from muddy work boots_

 _From cigarettes and hair grease_

 _I am from the white house_

 _That's never silent_

 _I am from_ _the_ dirt

 _The oak tree_

 _Whose long gone limbs I remember,_

 _as if they were my own_

 _I'm from Christmas mornings and cowlicks_

 _from Mom's kindness and Dad's grin_

 _I'm from loud voices and hard work_

 _and from laughter_

 _I'm from "use your head" and "you don't quit"_

 _and Nothing Gold Can Stay_

 _I'm from long hours and Tulsa_

 _From chocolate milk and over sweetened icing_

 _From the train tracks that stole them_

 _far too_ _young_

 _Their wedding rings_

 _In the velvet jewelry box_

 _Perhaps the nicest thing we own_


End file.
